They say it's a long fall from the top.
Well, in the Gutter, it's a pretty fucking far fall from the bottom, too.
Well, in the Gutter, it's a pretty fucking far fall from the bottom, too.
The Floor's the Limit by Tess Makovesky
Johnny was on the laptop when the bitch walked in. Head
down, poring over one of those sites he loved, where the girls did what you
asked. Cost a fortune, of course, but it was worth it to see their eagerness to
please. And please they certainly did. He had his hand in his pants right now.
He was almost there. He didn't need an interruption from the bitch.
"The fuck d'you want?"
She curled her lip round the usual cigarette. "Not that
filth again? I thought you'd agreed not to visit those sites any more."
"Fuck off. I can do what I want in my own house. 'S
long as I pay the bills."
"You better pay them because I won't any more. I'm not
working my fingers to the bone so you can jerk off in front of a bunch of
freaks."
"They do a lot more for me than you ever did."
She curled her lip again. "Looks like a freak-show to
me. Smells like one too. It stinks in here. Can't you open a window and let
some fresh air in?"
He didn't want windows open; he wanted to be left alone, to
watch, and pass on orders, and watch some more. He tried to grab her arm, but
missed. She shimmied to the window, flung aside the curtains and threw the
window wide.
Sunlight stabbed him in the eyes; he'd been in the dark too
long and the brightness hurt. "Fuck it, are you trying to make me
blind?"
"At least you wouldn't be able to watch that
crap." She smirked, and he longed to smack the smile right off her stupid
face. Couldn't, though. He'd tried once before and she'd brought her maniac
brother round. He was shit-scared of her brother, who'd done time for beating
some old codger half to death. The bitch told him he was evil, but her brother
was worse.
His eyes adjusted to the new and appalling light, revealing
the dust and detritus of a hundred lonely nights. Pizza boxes, beer cans,
whisky bottles refilled with piss.... He supposed it was a mess. With the light
came that noxious substance, fresh air, filling the room with the scent of
new-mown grass. He sneezed. "For the love of God will you shut that
window? You know I get hay fever at this time of year."
"You only get hay fever because you never go outdoors.
Look at you. God's gift to mankind."
Her smile had become vicious, and the open window was giving
him ideas. New and appalling ideas, which he'd never quite entertained before.
Ideas that involved a long, long drop, and a smack on the concrete of the backyard far below. She couldn't call her brother if she was dead.
He hauled himself to his feet and fastened his flies. It was
almost as though it was pre-ordained. She was right by the window, elbows on
the sill, flicking her cigarette ash out. All he had to do was sidle up close,
and use his weight to push her further still.
She fought, but she was no match for his sheer strength. He
levered her up and out. She balanced for a moment like a dolphin on a pole,
then shrieked and fell.
"Bastard...." he heard her cry. It seemed to last
for ages before it stopped.
He smirked, and waddled back to the desk. Now he could
concentrate, without her breathing down his neck. Now he could get back to
unfinished business, and finish it off. He sat, and unzipped his pants.
*
He was almost done when the bitch walked in. He stopped
mid-stroke and almost wet himself. "Wh-wh-how? What the fuck?"
She wiped blood from her face and smiled. "Hello,
Johnny boy, weren't you expecting me?"
"But . . . you're dead. You fell out of the window. I
practically heard the thud."
"Oh, you heard a thud all right. But that was just me
breaking a stone off the garden wall." She hefted a green-tinged lump of
stone, small enough to fit her hand, big enough to do some damage with.
"Yes, but . . . I don't understand. How can you fall
all that way and not be dead?"
Her smile grew wider, like that of a crocodile. "All
what way, Johnny? Have you forgotten? You swapped the rooms round last month.
We're on the ground floor now."
It was true, he had forgotten. He kicked himself; it hurt.
But not as much as the stone, when she threw it from where she stood. It hit
him on the head. He felt a moment's flare of pain, then everything went grey.
"That should do it," he heard her say, through the
crashing waves in his skull. "That should put you out of action till my
brother gets here."


